The purpose of a stop sign is to put in areas where drivers may be unsure of who has the right to cross first. They do this in order to prevent accidents.

The purpose of a yield sign is to assign which driver has the right-of-way or can go before another driver. This is also used to prevent accident.

The purpose of a one-way sign is to show or warn drivers that the street can only be driven a particular way. You can not go the opposite way on a one-way street. The purpose of this is to prevent accidents.

The purpose of a directional sign is to direct the driver to a public location. This is so that in an emergency people will not get lost and so that people will not get lost in general.

The purpose of a road change sign is to tell the driver that there is a hazard coming in the road. It may also say that the road may curve or be hazardous. The purpose of this is too to prevent accidents.

The purpose of a stop light is to show the driver when they should pass an intersection. Green means that you are permitted to pass that intersection. Yellow means to slow down and be aware to not pass the intersection. Red means that you do not have permission to pass the intersection. On red however you may turn right unless directed otherwise.

There are two main types of traffic signs. There is the walk/don't walk sign at crosswalks, which control pedestrian movement. There is also the traffic light where the driver is shown when to pass on an intersection. There are also many kinds of traffic signs. A few of them are a stop sign, yield sign, one-way sign, do-not-enter sign, directional sign, and a road changes sign. The purpose of traffic signs, and lights is to regulate the movement of all people who use the streets and highways. Obeying traffic signs and lights will help prevent traffic accidents. Not obeying them is against the law.

Yungas Road (Highway of death in Bolivia)

Yungas Road is one of the most dangerous roads of all world. It is placed in Bolivia, between La Paz and Coroico cities. Since this region is called as Yungas, naturally this road is named as Yungas Road.

This road is used by heavy trucks, buses and lorries. Naturally, if you go to there,you can see the wreckages of many lorries and buses. In last years, it is also preferred by cyclists and motorcyclists. ”Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking” is one of the extreme sports made by on this road. Every month, more than 200 people die on Yungas Road. Annual death toll is more than 3000.

Guoliang Tunnel Road (China)

Guoliang Road is one of the most well-known killer roads .It was built by the villagers living in Guoliang region. Total length of the road is almost 1200 meters. It is located in Taihang mountains in China. To finish complete road took 5 years of villagers. On the road, there are tunnels with 5 meters height and 4 meters width. This road is known as death machine.

Pasubio Road (Italy)

Pasubio Road was constructed in Vicenza, Northern Italy. Once upon a time, it was really a dead machine. Currently, it is only used for motorcycling activities.On the road, there are hairpin turns and tunnels. The existence of the roads twisting into tunnels and hairpin turns makes this road interesting.

Fortunately for me I had friends in Ontario just a couple hours from my home in New York. I could drop off my things with them and collect them little by little after visiting. What a relief that would be! So, the plan was set into motion. I went home to New York for a bit to get things straightened for my return, and then grabbed one of my friends to co-pilot the Search and Extract mission. The Plan: Return to New Brunswick, pack my belongings, travel north of the border down to Southern Ontario and drop off my many things, then head home with just a portion of them so as not to be bothered by Customs agents. It was genius. Fool proof. Magnificent.

The first part of Operation Cheattheborder went off without a hitch. We made great time from New York to New Brunswick, even proving that a Mazda 626 could, in a fit of road rage and dangerous speeds, beat a Camaro (or at least make the driver scared enough to stay clear of us). We arrived at the ex's place and slept. Phase one complete.

Phase two: I packed my belongings into a few duffle bags and said my goodbyes. Phase two went perfectly.

Phase Three: Long drive, eh? My co-pilot and I made good time through a good chunk of Canada, despite some blizzard like conditions. Luck was on our side as we sped (literally) down the highways. Every time we saw a cop, they already had a speeder pulled over, and we were of little matter to them. Things were going very well, until the good ol' Mazda lost second gear. We were in Quebec, somewhere, I'd tell you where exactly but I can't pronounce those French names, and if I could pronounce them I wouldn't because I hate the French. Chalk it up to being forced through French class in High school. I digress. We were losing our transmission in a place where we couldn't even speak their language, and we were many hours from home.

We stopped several times over the next few hours and poured money into the transmission, we were losing the fluid as quick as we were putting it in, but it got us a bit further down the road each time. It was Johnstown Ontario, just south of Ottawa, that the Mazda finally laid to rest. It was also about three in the morning. Our phone calls to possible responders went unanswered. We were trapped. On the bright side - it was Ontario - at least they spoke English.

We pushed the Mazda to the border and walked into the crossing patrol station. They looked at us as if we were retarded as we gave our account of the Mazda's demise and our ultimate dilemma of how to get home. They pointed us in the direction of a gas station where we could get a couple bottles of transmission fluid in hopes of getting us over the bridge and into the States where rescue was most likely. Arriving at the gas station at around 5:30 AM, we were welcomed by a sign informing us that they opened at 6:00AM. With the long walk already made once, we had only the option of standing in the cold and waiting for someone to show up and open the little station up.

Victory was ours at last. At 6:30AM when we reached our frosted Mazda again, complete with two bottles of transmission fluid, we did the last thing we could do - pour them straight into the transmission fluid container and try one last time. To my amazement, we DID start moving again, and as we got about one quarter of the way up the steeply inclined bridge I let God know we were on speaking terms again.

Apparently, he didn't feel the same way, because he smote the transmission one final time. There was only one thing left to do: Push.

Pushing the family vehicle up the steel-decked bridge, I looked down at the water rushing below us. Day dreaming is the best way to get through pushing a car for an extended distance, especially with an incline like this. My daydreams were a bit darker, where a section of the bridge would collapse be swallowed up by the Niagara River, the worthless paperweight of a vehicle with it, me laughing hysterically and in tones and octaves mostly reserved for sanitariums in B-rated movies. Alas, daydreaming didn't get things done, and there was a pretty sturdy looking rail between the river and any possibility of making my dream come true. After mourning the death of my hopes for the demise of this anxiety-ridden ride, we reached the top of the slope. We could see the American border crossing, and with the slope as it was, we would be able to let the car coast all the way!

Unfortunately internet dating gives you an eternity of bad karma, and karma was catching up with me at the bottom of the bridge where there was a toll booth. Two hundred yards from the actual border crossing, level as could be, we were stopped. We had to push again. Skipping the boredom and details of what the crossing guards, who helped us push part of the way, looked like; we were given directions to a motel we could probably walk to.

Very bad directions. We walked for an hour and a half before we found a Walmart where we were able to get the number for a cab company. We got the cabby to take us to the nearest motel. The cabby didn't wait for us to find the Motel office deserted. We walked again until we found what was formerly a Ramada, now an abandoned old building… or was it? Abandoned, I mean, was it abandoned? The only vehicle in the parking lot had Georgia plates. No lights on, no updated signs, just old Ramada signs that had red spray paint over the white letters that once spelled the franchise name. We tried the "front door" and were as delighted as you could be under the circumstances. On finding the front desk clerk, we were informed that since it was 11am and not 2pm, we would be charged for an extra half day's stay. As unacceptable as this was, it became acceptable when we looked back on the past few hours of walking, and when remembering it had been over 24 hours since either of us had last slept. I gave in, and the clerk went to go "make sure the room was available".

FakeRamada language lesson number one, “Make sure the room is available” translates into “Make sure this room is as shitty as possible because you don't look a day over 21 and you'll probably trash it”. She certainly made sure the room was available, as was noted by the leaking ceiling, cigarette burned bed spreads, stained floors, non-functioning phone, lack of hot water, and a heater that warmed approximately a two foot space in the next four hours. Despite having a room, I still had to leave the hotel to use a payphone across the street. Finally I got in touch with my mother, who in turn got in contact with my uncle who was able to pick up a car trailer and come get us. I went back to the room and tried to sleep, but the frustration of the day was weighing on me so much that I sat staring at the TV, flipping between a show about the playboy bunnies and a Romeo and Juliet story starring some sort of Spanish monkeys in some town somewhere. Quality television, I assure you.

Finally, when we wanted to check out because my uncle had made the six-hour trip to find us, we went to the front desk. Nobody was there. We rang the bell, called the desk from cell phones, and waited impatiently for a bit before I let myself in the “Employees Only” door beside the desk. Upon inspection I noticed a room with a couch, where our faithful Night Auditor lay sleeping peacefully through our obnoxious behavior. Tired and irritated, I gave the couch a couple kicks, a “Time to wake up, sunshine”, and then returned to my side of the front desk. He didn't get up. It wasn't until my uncle's girlfriend at the time chimed in that the clerk decided he'd grace us with his presence. He insisted he was not sleeping, and when confronted with the fact he was witnessed sleeping, he said he's allowed to sleep on the overnight shift. I was content with checking out, but after seeing the condition of the room my uncle and his then-girlfriend insisted I not pay for my stay. The night clerk whined and moaned through the fact he was unable to give refunds, etc. before he was told to call his manager. “The manager is probably at the casino” was his excuse. When pushed for a 1-800 number for the hotel, he checked his list of numbers and promptly came up with a 1-800 number… for poison control. After coming to the conclusion that we were not going to get anywhere with the possibility of a refund, we left the hotel, retrieved the hell-wagon, and made the six hour trek home.

I've always preferred Quality over Quantity, but the problems that came with this trip were more or less a quantity of quality. It goes without saying that I haven't been on a road trip since, despite the Mazda having its transmission rebuilt. My friend thanked me for the experience, since he had no plans for the weekend and it was indeed an experience he hadn't had before. We don't talk anymore. On that note, I blame Quebec and the French who settled it; because it was there that the transmission blew. France, if you read this, you owe me about $1,500 American dollars for the transmission, and about ten times that for the emotional turmoil I went through.

We've planned this trip for a while now, and it was already time to make the move. My cousins' Ford Fusion, was perfect to go such distance. It was his brand-new car, red, and very sophisticated. We also had a police radar, because if we were getting there on scheduled time, we had to speed every now and then to make up for the awfully inevitable traffics that I-95 was famous for.

Now that we were ready, suitcases thrown in the trunk, and blankets and pillows in the back seats, my cousin flew in head first inside in the passenger seat. Delilah and Kate, the two women in my life, my girlfriend and my best friend were finally ready to jump in. Obviously, everyone was sleepy. But the driver, that would be me, had a very enormous disadvantage. I had to stay awake the whole time, or all of us would put an end to the press' silly season.

It was time to go now, but not quite in the direction we were supposed to. Feeling as drowsy as I was, I drove to Dunkin Donuts and got two cups of coffee so I'd keep awake. Looking in the rear-view mirror, the only thing I saw of those girls was their heads. They were all covered up in their blankets, sleeping as soundless. It was late winter, and still chilly in Florida. I looked over and so was George, his head cocked, leaning against he window, and was sleeping, but not as soundless as the girls. However, we had a schedule to keep, and I was ready to hit the road.

11:13AM

After making a couple of restroom stops, we finally made it to Georgia. Florida is not as scenic as the other states, nevertheless, some interesting things had caught our eyes here and there. For instance, it was kind of like tradition to count up all the accidents we'd see, and how many cars are pulled over by the cops. So far, the score was 4:7. Another things that caught our attention was the Fuller Warren Bridge, since we went over the Acosta bridge instead which was more parallel than perpendicular to the Fuller Warren. This is where we had stopped for our second bathroom break, in the heart of Jacksonville.

Many of the so-called "caution signs" are often portrayed as universally recognized logos or drawings. These signs point out a specific area of caution, and try to draw attention to it's warning, although these signs can often be amusing, funny, and sometimes, just downright strange. In any case, proceed with caution.

Be careful of strong winds, they may blow you away - in a grocery cart..

In the case of an outbreak of fire, run quickly with a fire extinguisher in your hand.

Does this street really lead to downtown Mongolia?

Please keep your elephant outside, no elephants allowed in the store please.

No fun and entertainment allowed here!

If you drop a hat on the station platform, please find a stationmaster. He will use an amazing grabbing tool to get it back for you.

Will Jesus be appearing personally at the January sale?

You can run, but you will never hide from us. We know where you live.

Maybe you are looking for a store that sells only bread, eggs, cigarettes and soaps?

Get on the bandwagon, you and 8 million mosquitoes.

The “hardware” performs well, but only without windows.

Do you love the one called PORK?

This store either has a child bear, or they have cold beer. Which one?.

Check out the Japanese Auto Rock!.

Please do not let your dog poop on the red line!

The grass is sleeping, please do not step on it.

Would you even want to be a Gamma in the Land of Lamas?

Do not leave cigarette puff on the floor as they may burn the hands and knees of the customers.Mmm, leaving on your hands and knees are you?

He aims, she aims, but just hit the target please!

Please remove your arms BEFORE entering the building!

Maybe not the best place to study English..."

Finally, a logical sign that makes sense.

Attention, this location does not allow you to have sexual contact with goats.

If you encounter a bear, don't be a tough guy, bears don't box.

If you see a jumping baby, don't try to catch it.

Smoking is no problem here, but passing gas is strictly forbidden!

Not a lot of choice here...

An excellent place to wear your sandals, but no sexy underwear allowed here!

Either there are a chocolate ice cream cones available, or there is one of the massive looking piles of poop up ahead that you may have ever seen. Please watch out!

Park your vehicle with all wheels firmly on the ground, no hovering allowed here.

Dear crossing, It has been a long time...

Be alert that drunken people will be seen crawling in this area, pay them no mind.

Houghton is approximately 2 km past the edge of the world, follow the signs carefully."

This is a tricky one, please pass with care.

Traffic lights never turn green here. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?

Is this a one way road in both directions or is it a two-way road in one direction?

Please pay attention and read the fine print on this sign. Violators will be prosecuted!.

I think that this sidewalk isn't quite sure what it wants to be.

Is a Coca-Cola really being sold in fashionable Indian made pottery jars, or is that just a locally available version??

I know what you are thinking, but please don't play with those.

Route 66 was where you could go to have fun. Everyone I know who has driven the route, comes back with endless stories. Things they saw that you just wouldn't believe. Places that seem lost in time. Also, the other people there on the trip too, you meet people from all over the U.S.. There are no strangers on Route 66, only friends that you haven't met yet. They are all still looking for their kicks on Route 66, and still finding them, in abundance.

I was born in Chicago, and I always thought Route 66 was out west somewhere. Was I surprised to find that it starts in Chicago. Not only that it starts in Chicago, but its part of my past, and its also the beginning of the route. Wow! Where I live right now is the very heart of Route 66, Kingman Az. There is the Hill Top motel, the train station, Route 66 diner, so many unique restaurants, hotels, and motels, The Powerhouse Visitor Center, Canada Mart, gas with souvenirs. Be sure to see downtown Kingman, and Beale St., with all its little shops and cafes.

It's an antique lovers paradise. Pretty much as it was many years ago. There are historic hotels too. This is the home town of Andy Devine of movie fame. The main route through town is also Andy Devine Rd. Route 66 winds through states west of and of course including Illinois. Also, some of the cities and towns it goes through are St. Louis, MO., Tulsa, Ok., Amarillo,Tx., Albuquerque, N.M., Winslow, Flagstaff, and Kingman, Az., Barstow, Ca., and ends in Los Angeles, California.

Many attractions you find along Route 66 are found nowhere else. Thats because there is no other road, or route, where the point is not just to get where you're going. The trip is the point. The trip is the main attraction . Where you stop or how far you go is not the thing. Its the trip. Route 66. The very thought of it takes me back to another place and time. It's like turning back the clock to the a time when we were young and happy. We wore the poodle skirts, had saddle shoes, and ponytails. We wore a scarf tied around our necks, and drank those little bottles of Coca Cola. We were cool.

We talked about boys. Who had the fastest hotrod, the slickest hair, and how wonderful it would be, if we too could get our kicks on Route 66. I remember a television show by the same name. It was a time when Elvis was king, Sam Cook could make you cry, and Little Richard, and Chuck Berry made you want to get up and dance.

I feel bad for those who didn't live in the late 40's and 50's. Life was good. War was over. We had no where to go but up. Minimum wage was under $1. Women still didn't work outside the home too often. And, American women cooked. They made meatloaves, pot roasts, pork chops, mashed potatoes, and over everything was poured gravy. Heavy, delicious, greasy gravy. They made cakes and cookies for dessert. We loved it.

A salad in those days was lettuce and tomatoes, with a heavy mayonnaise dressing. But it was O.K. We moved our bodies and we were slim for the most part. It was an era. It was a time when most Americans were getting more money to spend, and spend it they did. They bought cars. Chevrolet, Ford, Plymouth, Buick.

And where did they go in those cars? On road trips. Motels went up all over, diners too. After all the people have to be fed. Somewhere, someone decided ordinary just wasn't good enough, so extraordinary, happened, and, Route 66 is the result. Bring plenty of film, or at least a digital camera, the attractions abound. There is no way you can resist trying to see everything. It got me hooked, and you will be too. Got some vacation time coming? You know what to do. Get your kicks on Route 66!

For Monaco, chose the Corniche Inferieure, which will guide you along the coast, or the Moyenne Corniche, the spiritual home of sports cars and film stars. Monaco is as you would expect, greatly compacted glamor. If you like to gamble and people watch then you would be foolish to avoid a stop here.

But I'm rather scruffy, so I went for the Grande Corniche. The Grande Corniche is the highest of the three, with beautiful sea views from a mountain trail. On clear days you can even see Corsica. This road overlooks the picturesque Eze, so you can briefly see the sites without braving summer crowds. There are few places to stop along the way, so when you find one take a moment to pause and savor the view. Some may consider these roads to be “hairpins” but next to the roads across the Pyrenees it is highly civilized. This is the sort of driving that makes you feel alive, a real buzz that does not need the pop-culture anchor point of the lower Corniche.

Despite being the longest route of the three, by necessity as it winds up the mountain itself, the Grande Corniche is the least likely to be congested. Locals go for the coast road, and tourists for the Moyenne Corniche. I am bemused as to why more do not choose the top road, since the sights here are unrivaled.

But all too soon the journey is over and we pass, without comment, through the unmanned border control into Italy. After all, we are all Europeans now. It seems that either side of the Rivera has become a sort of fusion. You will find pizza parlors all over St Tropez and the menus in San Remo are also written in French. The only clue that you are in another country is the change in language around you.

Hopping over the border will lead you to a number of tourist-aimed shops. You will not find the usual beach themed shops, but will come across bootleg alcohol shops. These are towns that know their market. You will find good pizza with minimal effort, but decent ice cream takes more of a hunt.

If you want to go to a real Italian market, head to Ventimiglia on a Friday. You will find yourself joined by numerous French and Italian people, as well as tourists. If you wish, head back on the Moyenne Corniche to see Monaco and Eze by night. This way you can experience two of the Corniche on one journey. Once again, you could go for the auto route and bypass the more intriguing roads, but you would be missing out on a spirit of adventure.